


let me take care of you.

by heartshapedcookie, heereandqueer



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, insanely self indulgent, it's literally. cheesy and light and nothing else, literally just cheesy domestic fluff, there is no literary quality here, tired boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartshapedcookie/pseuds/heartshapedcookie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/heereandqueer/pseuds/heereandqueer
Summary: It's flu season and not even Hanna is spared from the virus's wrath. However, she has two loving dads, an overexcited dog, and an indifferent cat to help take care of her.





	let me take care of you.

**Author's Note:**

> @tinylittle-femalechrist on Tumblr. god bless hailey for coming up with this adorable little concept and letting me run away with it.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t crash your car.”

“I can’t believe you’d even say that,” Ethan said, scandalized. He promptly came within scant inches of bashing the hood of their 2007 Honda Civic into the sticker-festooned bumper before him, preventing a collision at the last possible moment with a panicked slam on the brakes. As the vehicle lurched violently—reminding him that they were very much in need of a trip to the dealership for a less rickety car—Ethan heard Ben fall silent on the opposite line. Either he had heard the squeal of rubber against pavement or he had used whatever divine powers were at his disposal to sense that his husband was about to rear-end half of New York City.

“You were saying?” Ben finally asked.

“I’m not crashing,” Ethan argued, turning the wheel and attempting to inch past the snarl of traffic outside of his office building. It was a quarter to one in the afternoon, which meant the office drones were returning from their lunch breaks and clogging the office park’s main intersection. “I’m just—Why don’t you go back to work and stop judging my driving from twenty miles away?”

“Because I know you and know that you’re about to go full-on neurotic,” Ben said with such confidence that Ethan scowled inexorably at his phone, which he had mounted on the dashboard so he could drive with both hands. “I know that you would plow through traffic if it meant getting to Hanna’s school faster.”

Ethan had very much been considering the virtues of plowing through traffic, but he would never grant Ben the satisfaction. “You said the nurse said she probably had the flu. The flu, Ben. Have you been reading the news?”

“Did you seriously just ask me if I was reading the—?”

“You know what I mean! This recent strain’s already killed like hundreds of kids and it’s not going away and—”

“Babe.” Even though Ben wasn’t physically present, Ethan could easily imagine him planting a hand on either of Ethan’s bony shoulders and gazing at him with those piercing, intelligent eyes. The mere image was enough to drain the tension locking his sinews in place. “She’s fine. She probably just picked up the same flu virus every other kid in that school has. You know those schools teach way too much about sharing and not enough about covering your mouth when you sneeze.”

“God. We still really need to remind Hanna to cover her mouth, don’t we?” Ethan mused, recalling the other night when Hanna had unleashed a particularly violent sneeze all over the coffee table and Cooper (who didn’t seem to mind and had merely barked a “bless you”). 

“Eh, she’s six, she’ll pick it up eventually.”

Ethan laughed and turned onto the street that would take him out of the tech district. Hanna’s primary school was about five blocks away from his building, just distant enough that he couldn’t stare out of his window at the playground and fret about bacteria and bullies, but within a close enough proximity that he could be in the main office within ten minutes of receiving a phone call. 

“You should focus on driving,” Ben said, the crispness of his professional voice startling Ethan out of his reverie. “I gotta get back to the newsroom anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll text you once we’re home. And once I confirm it’s just a virus.”

“Please don’t drag her to the ER if it’s not an emergency, babe.”

“Stop shaming me, I’m trying to drive!” Ethan exclaimed defensively, biting back a comment about Ben’s own driving abilities—or lack thereof. He had gotten his licenses after moving to the city, but he had only once been behind the wheel in the eight-and-a-half years he had lived in New York and it had not gone well by any metric of quality. They had been forced to buy this dinky Honda as a result of Ben’s first and last attempt at driving in the city.

“Okay, okay,” Ben conceded, chuckling; Ethan couldn’t help but smile adoringly as his husband’s laughter filled the car’s cabin. “I’ll stop by and get some medicine and juice on my way home.”

“Thanks, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Drive safe and give Hanna a big hug for me.”

“Of course.” Ethan hung up and threw his phone into the backpack in the passenger seat, devoting his attention back to the road. 

By the time he pulled into the parking lot behind the playground, Ethan had successfully convinced himself that Hanna was alright. He still had difficulty managing his anxiety, although therapy and adopting Cooper had helped him deal with the more debilitating aspects of his mental illness, and spent a great deal of time worrying about his daughter. It was ridiculous, really: she was a happy, healthy child who went to a stellar school and was constantly surrounded by friends, family, and furry companions. If anything, she should have worried about him and his poor self-care habits.

As he headed into the building—trying to look as innocent as possible, wishing he had opted for a less grubby flannel or tighter jeans—Ethan quashed the last spike of anxiety and made tentative plans to clear the unfolded laundry off his and Ben’s bed so Hanna could camp out under their comforter and watch movies. She would love that. 

After giving his information to the office receptionist, he was given clearance to venture beyond the front desk and peek tentatively into the infirmary. A stout, blonde woman was seated at a computer, dressed in white; upon noticing him in the doorway, she flashed him a warm grin. “Are you Mr. Garcia?”

“One of them, yeah,” Ethan replied with a nervous smile. 

“Abba!” There was movement behind a pale blue curtain. Hanna darted out, her space backpack perched securely on her shoulders and her arms outstretched for a hug. Ethan caught her in a loving embrace, relief surging through his wiry frame at the familiar sensation of her slinging her little arms around his neck. Pressing a kiss to her warm brow, he stood with Hanna scooped against his chest. She was a little too old to be carried, but Ethan was willing to chance destroying his back if it meant his baby was comfortable.

The nurse stood up and gave Hanna’s arm a gentle pat. “She was running a fever of about one-oh-one-point-eight. Not too bad, but definitely uncomfortable and definitely a sign of the flu. I would suggest keeping her home for the next few days and keeping her hydrated.”

“That was the plan,” Ethan said, rubbing Hanna’s back; she snuggled deeper into his embrace. 

“You folks take care. And you feel better soon, sweetheart,” she added. Hanna lifted her head from Ethan’s shoulder to thank her, then promptly replaced it and closed her eyes. 

“Thank you.” Ethan wasted no time escaping the front office, which he was convinced had serious reservations about his unkempt appearance, and buckling Hanna into her purple car seat, where she elicited a soft whine and kicked in place. “What’s wrong, mami?”

“Not comfy,” she complained, shifting in her seat. “I don’t wanna sit in my car seat, Abba.”

“You gotta, mami, just until we get home. Then I’ll make you some soup and you can get in our bed and watch some movies. Doesn’t that sound good?” he asked softly as he brushed her somewhat deflated curls out of her eyes.

Hanna’s expression brightened at the prospect of getting to lay in her fathers’ bed and watch a movie instead of spending the afternoon doing arithmetic worksheets. Her fit passed as quickly as it arrived, and she allowed Ethan to adjust the straps across her chest without complaint. “Okay, Abba.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, kissing her forehead again. “Now let’s get home.”

.

.

As promised, Hanna was deposited in the master bedroom as soon as Ethan helped her out of her school clothes and into her pink Tangled nightgown. He still insisted on her taking a Tylenol after checking her temperature and finding it was still on the higher side of one-oh-one, but she was allowed to chase the tablet with a cold cup of apple juice. 

Ben found them in the bedroom three hours later, Moana playing on the television and Cooper snoozing contentedly at Hanna’s side. The girl looked half-asleep under the comforter, but the second she saw him in the doorway, she bolted out of bed. “Daddy!”

He picked her up and swung her back onto the bed, kissing her cheek adoringly. “How’s my baby doing?”

“My throat hurts, but Abba made me chicken noodle soup with stars,” she informed him, climbing back into her blanket nest; Cooper blinked awake, yawned, and immediately fell back to sleep with his whiskered face nuzzled against Hanna’s leg. “He made me eat all the carrots out of my soup and his soup too so I’d get better faster.”

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Ben shot his husband a pointed glance, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. Ethan busied himself with gathering the empty bowls and cuts resting on the nightstand. “Well, I stopped by the store and got some children’s Tylenol.”

“No, Daddy, I don’t wanna take medicine,” Hanna lamented with a wide-eyed pout. If she had aimed that particular expression Ethan’s way, she would have gotten her way, but Ben wasn’t so easily swayed by a cute pout. 

“If you want to get better, you have to take some. But if you won’t, I guess I’ll just have to keep the Popsicles I got for me and your abba,” Ben said, shrugging and lifting the plastic grocery bag in his left hand for emphasis.

Hanna visibly perked up at the mention of Popsicles. “I can take the medicine, Daddy. I don’t even gotta have it with juice.”

“You can definitely take it with juice, just as long as you let me give you a quick bath.”

“Yeah! Can we put bubbles in it?”

“I don’t see how else we could do it,” Ben replied. He smiled down at his daughter, then gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You go get yourself some new pajamas and your bath toys, and I’ll go run it for you, okay?”

Hanna nodded in agreement before dismounting the bed and trotting towards her bedroom. In her absence, the two men exchanged kisses.

“How’s she doing?” Ben asked, handing over the bags for Ethan to take into the kitchen.

“Tired and a little cranky from being sore, but still good. A bath will probably put her right to sleep.”

“That’s the goal. Plus I’m sure it’ll feel good to get all the sick off.”

“Definitely.” Ethan opened the bag, glanced at the box of fruit-flavored Popsicles, and smirked knowingly at his husband. “I can’t believe you’re the one bribing her now.”

“Hey, I took a whole course on negotiation tactics. Ice treats are the only thing one-hundred-percent guaranteed to always get you what you want,” Ben retorted, removing his tie and slinging it into the hamper. “I’ve got bath time covered if you want to put those away.”

“No problem.”

Ethan went into the kitchen with the bags and used dishware in tow, and began the tedious, but soothing, process of unpacking and washing. He was so fixated on the task at hand and thinking about giving Li and Alice a call tomorrow morning to confirm that Hanna hadn’t passed her illness along to Carmen that he hardly noticed Cooper’s absence. Typically, if the family was in separate rooms, Cooper would stay by Ethan’s side until the three were reunited (a loyalty that did little to improve his troubled relationship with Ben). However, there was no dog begging for stray star noodles or barking at the crinkle of plastic, which he didn’t even take notice of until he heard a loud splash and a surprised shriek from the bathroom.

“Ben?” Ethan set down the fresh bottle of apple juice he had taken out for Hanna, frowning quizzically. Before he could even venture past the threshold of the kitchen, a soapy, furry projectile rocketed out of the master bedroom, nearly toppled over Nebula, and launched itself at Ethan. The man was knocked off his feet, landing heavily on his knees; he caught himself with his hands, too surprised to care about his joints. 

“Boof!” The projectile collided with him again, this time slamming itself against Ethan’s side as if seeking shelter. After catching his breath, Ethan rocked himself into a kneeling position and came face to face with his very cheerful, very wet dog. 

“Coop? What did you…?” 

Cooper promptly shook himself dry, scattering strawberry-scented bathwater across the hallway and thoroughly soaking his owner. Wiping bubbles from his scruffy cheeks, Ethan finally realized that Cooper must have decided to join Hanna in the tub and quickly realized that the water was no place for a city dog like himself. 

Ben stepped into the hallway, drenched as well. He glared murderously at Cooper, who merely barked a happy greeting and trotted into the kitchen for a nosh. 

“Your dog is stupid,” Ben declared.

Usually, Ethan would argue such an accusation so fiercely that Ben would swear that his older sister had somehow possessed his husband, but tonight he merely sighed and dragged a hand across his water-beaded brow. “He sure is something.”

.

.

After making sure the bathroom door was firmly latched, Ben continued with washing the sweat out of her curls and soaping her skin clean. She hoarsely regaled him with tales about how she had found her thirty-eighth viewing of Moana, which he patiently treated with the follow-up questions and agreements that her analysis demanded. He allowed her five minutes to play in the bubbles after pouring the final pitcher of water over her head, but Hanna lethargically told him she’d rather put on her pajamas and go to bed, thank you very much.

Ben obliged, lifting her out of the tub and gently toweling her off while she swayed and occasionally giggled to herself about Cooper’s accidental dip. He dressed her in the clean nightgown she had brought him, but no sooner had he pulled it over her head did she drowsily ask if she could wear the “Stammord” sweater.

“The what?” he asked, amused.

“Your red ‘Stammord’ sweater. The one you always let Abba wear when he’s sick,” Hanna added, readying her lip for another pout. “Can I please wear it, Daddy?”

“Of course, baby. It’s gonna be a little big on you…”

“I want it to be big,” she said firmly. “Like a dress.”

“Like a dress,” Ben agreed, pressing a kiss to her clean cheek. “Let’s get you dressed and then we’ll see if your mean old Abba’s still gonna make you take medicine.”

When Ethan brought the children’s Tylenol and juice back into the bedroom—still smelling of strawberry bubblebath—Hanna was seated in Ben’s lap, practically drowning in crimson fabric. She smiled sleepily at him and flapped her sleeve-covered hands. “Look, Abba! I’m you.”

He beamed in spite of himself. “I guess you are. Are you ready to take some medicine?”

Hanna only pouted for a minute or two before relenting and chasing two children’s Tylenol with a swig of juice. As if the pills were soporifics, her eyelids immediately lowered and she sagged against Ben’s chest, humming quietly. Ben fondly smoothed her damp curls down. “Are you ready for bed, baby?”

She nodded. 

Ben and Ethan took turns dropping kisses onto her forehead, tucking the blankets around her tiny frame, and instructing her to wake them the second she felt any worse or woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. She was dozing before they even turned the light out, surrounded by a now dry Cooper and an uncharacteristically gentle Nebula. 

Back in the living room, the two men all but crashed into the sofa. Without bothering to open his eyes, Ben leaned back so that Ethan could crawl comfortably into his lap and drape an arm around his knees. Once he was secure, Ben anchored an arm around his half-conscious husband. “God. I’m too tired to force you to watch John Oliver.”

“I’m too tired to complain about it,” Ethan mumbled into the sofa. 

“Guess we’ll just have to fight that fight tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

Ben grinned and rested his hand lovingly on Ethan’s hectic head of curls. “I love you, babe.”

“I love you too. Now go to sleep.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“I mean it!”

“Fine, fine…” He threaded his fingers through his husband’s hair, rubbing his thumb gingerly against his temple. “Good night, Ethan.”

“Night, Ben.”

“You’re a good dad, ya know?”

The skin against his thumb went warm with a pleasant blush. “Go to sleep.”

“As you wish.”


End file.
